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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339328">At Midnight Fifty-One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannewist/pseuds/jeannewist'>jeannewist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Love/Hate, Slow Build, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:27:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannewist/pseuds/jeannewist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>an enemies to lovers romance, with a bit of smut from time to time (if i manage to make it stop being awkward hehe), between the one and only Draco Malfoy and an original female character, Halldora Jones, a muggle-born Slytherin (shocking I know), who's full of ambition and cunning, slightly pretentious from time to time but not easily intimated. </p><p>~ In this game of spies, shifting allegiances and clandestine affairs,<br/>who are we to draw the line between hatred and love? ~</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Angelina Johnson/Original Female Character(s), Blaise Zabini/Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy &amp; Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. nitimur in vetitum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well hello there!</p><p>first of all thank you thank you thank you for clicking on my story! I hope you'll enjoy it ;)</p><p>just wanted to inform you that i do not in any way, shape or form support Rowling's repugnant transphobic views.<br/>Obviously I do not own any character/plot from the original books, but the OCs are mine. So remember plagiarism ain't cool kids.</p><p>also I'm not a native speaker, so excuse any spelling/grammar mistake or anything I could get wrong about British culture.</p><p>lots of love,<br/>Jeanne.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   The shop was small and cluttered,  with a sticky smell of wet and rotten wood. Rays of golden sunlight pierced through the dirty windows, particles of dust floating in the air. </p><p>   A big mess of old parchemins, brown grimoires, hexed jewels, dangerous gimmicks, medieval swords, bones and potion bottles. Just like I remembered it.</p><p>   Behind us the door clinked shut.  The room sat empty, and dead silent. I smiled internally; everything so cool, and calm, like the happiness of knowing I was exactly where I wanted to be, exaclty how I was supposed to be. </p><p>'So who do you think is going to be our new DA teacher this year ?' Blaise asked, already inspecting the inside of a cabinet. 'Hopefully someone competent for once. I cannot stand one more of Dumbledore's inept little friend...'</p><p>'I guess we'll have to wait and find out,' I shrugged, making my way towards the book section. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same anymore anyway. Death-eaters were lurking, blatant hate and violence against  muggleborns rising with them. School would be no exception, especially in the Slytherin common room. </p><p> 'We're gonna have to be careful this year Zabini.' I lowered my voice in hesitation, despite us being completely alone in the shop. 'No one can know. I've never told anyone, but still, they can't know what I am.' </p><p>   Mud-blood. I'd heard enough whispers of disdain in my first year to know better than to show off my origins. Of course at first I'd hidden it out of shame, but I quickly realized I had nothing to be ashamed of. </p><p>   Still I'd learned about the wizarding world quickly, and hungrily. I wanted, I needed to fit in. No one could know of my muggle parents, ever. Thankfully with me being sorted into Slytherin, people just assumed. Besides I never was very chatty or cordial anyway - I guess that's part of the reason me and Blaise became friends. </p><p>'If the question arises, for some reason or another, I come an ancient and seclude lineage of icelandic wizards and witches. I am the first of my family to attend Hogwarts, as we are usually taught witchcraft by our grandmothers. I wanted to learn among students my age, that is why I came. No details, nothing more. The lesser the better.' My voice had turned into a whisper, and Blaise had stopped moving through the aisle to look at me.</p><p>   He nodded, with a flash of understanding, a flash of worry, and gestured to the cabinet in front of me: 'Moonpearls, here.' </p><p>   I looked down where his finger was pointing to. In a small silver cup, a little green from rust in some places, laid a couple of pearly white crystals. They were round like bubbles, each with minuscule greyish bumbs and craters. I squatted down, getting a better look at the pocket-sized moons. I had vaguely read about them in some obsucre mineralogy book, but it was enough to know just how rare these were. Not especially powerful, even useless if handled incorrectly, but extremely hard to forge. They required a special kind of crystal, and a long and dangerous preparation. I'd heard the story of a witch who'd spend her entire life hunting for their recipe, still it'd remained a mistery ever since Nicolas Flamel's death. </p><p>'So are you taking them?' he asked, pulling me out of my contemplations. I was tempted... The pearls shined coldly at me, whispers of power.</p><p>'No, I wouldn't have any use for them anyway.' I responded quietly, turning away. 'Besides I need some much more potent.'</p><p>'Hexing Spider Candles?'</p><p>'Too volatile,' I shook my head. </p><p>'Jesus Jones, what are you planning on doing? You've got to be better protected than the fucking Minister of magic by now, I'm starting to think you're becoming a bit paranoiac, old lady.'  </p><p> I smirked: 'There's nothing wrong with wanting perfection.'</p><p>'Right but of course. "Your tastes are simple: you are easily satisfied with the best".'</p><p>'Winston Churchill ?'I raised my eyebrows. 'I'll take that as a compliment thank you.'</p><p>He winked and turned away into a new aisle again.</p><p>I followed him, looking at the objects on display. Knifes and cups, coins, jewels, fiols, all carelessly abandonned. The dark arts were truely the most fascinating. All the history, the mysteries, crimes and secrets... who know what terrible act, what tragic destiny each of these objects had served?</p><p>I bumbed into Blaise's back. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, and turned around. Mischief lighted up his face.What was he up to now?</p><p>'I know what you need Hally.' he murmured excitedly. In his hands was a small glass bottle, filled with a shiny red liquid. He shook it left to right, eyes sparkling like a little child:</p><p>'Guess.' </p><p>I frowned. Red liquid?  Blood? </p><p>Then gasped: 'Whiskey? The Dragon Sisters's  burning whiskey ?? No way.' </p><p>Blaise nodded, smirking. </p><p>'Oh it's genius, Zabini, it is.'</p><p>'Glad you like it.' He pocketed the bottle and we made our way towards the counter, in the back of the shop. There was no one at the desk, safe for a grey human skull. Its empty orbits stared at me blankly.</p><p>   Door bells tingled eerily. It opened wide and in came a tall platinum blonde silhouette, followed by a dark, motherly figure. A chill breeze coming from outside swept through the shop. I didn't need to look at their faces to know who they were. Blaise and I exchanged an knowing look. The Malfoys were a bunch of tasteless, obnoxious, bigotted morons. </p><p>   In visible hurry the shopkeeper Mr Borgin emerged from the backdoor. Hands shaking, eyes aghast. He inquired the room anxiously for a few seconds before noticing us in front of him.  Borgin jerked his chin at us, expectantly, but kept his gaze stuck on the Malfoys. What was he so afraid of ? </p><p>   Blaise placed the bottle of burning whiskey on the counter.</p><p>'Just that ?' the hunched little man asked. </p><p>   Muffled murmurs reached us from the other corner of the room. I felt an icy gaze on my spine. The murmurs grew more heated.They were arguing.</p><p>'No,' I said, to Blaise's surprise. </p><p>   I walked back to where the moonpearls were shining, opened the cabinet and grabbed seven of them. My eyes met Draco's. </p><p>   He'd been watching me, inbetween the crooked shelves and miscellanous scatter of books and artefacts. His face was pale, cool and hallowed. He'd grown during the summer; he looked older, taller than the last time I'd seen him. My stomach turned. His eyes lingered, blue like ice and mountain springs, indecipherable. What was he doing here?</p><p>   Impassive, he averted his eyes and disapeared behind the mess of furniture. </p><p>   I went back to the counter, wood cracking under my feet, head light, blood thumping. I dropped a few galleons in Mr Borgin's hand, grabed the bottle and Blaise by the elbow, turned on my heels and stepped presto out the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ante omnia armari</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside the wind was howling. Like sad cold porridge the sky hanged grey and low. I let out a breath and inhaled deeply. But the smell of piss and cheap beer was everywhere. <em>London's lovely</em>, I thought.</p><p>'Let's get out of here,' I grunted.</p><p>Something about the encounter had made me uneasy. Malfoy's cold blue eyes. His unfeeling expression. That unshakable impression that he could see right my every thoughts, right through my soul. I shook it off.</p><p>I had more important things to worry about. And the silver little hands of my pocket watch had ticked 5:40. I was meeting my informant at the Leaky Cauldron at 6. Better get there as early as possible. Make sure the place was safe, and most importantly that we wouldn't be overheard.</p><p>As we hurried down the cobblestone road, I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the shop window. We looked like vampires, tall and handsome, coats floating in the wind. My short black hair, cut in a bob, contrasted against my ivory skin and the rouge of my lipstick. A long black coat, silk white shirt, stilettos made me look older than I was. I'd always given great importance to my appearance, curating my every look. Call it vainess, call it narcissism, but I knew the importance of first impressions.</p><p>I glanced sideways at Blaise. He was sporting his usual formal attire; pleated dress pants and derby shoes, black shirt, and a black unbuttened coat. Thinking about it, it was uncanny how well we complimented each other. Almost as if we were one and the same person.</p><p>Of course it didn't help that we'd been training to read each other's thoughts since Year 3, when I'd first discovered about legilimency and convinced Blaise that our future greatness absolutely depended on this one vital skill. He agreed in the end, obviously, and we'd dedicated hours and hours to the intricate and torturous study of navigating each other's mind. We were in no way perfect; we still hadn't figured out how to communicate effectively. For some reason we could only talk to each other if eyecontact was maintened. But the rest we mastered effortlessly: walls of our minds high enough to prevent any suprise invasion, and an ability to pick almost any muggle's brain.</p><p>Swimming through the crowd that stormed through Diagon Alley every few days before September, we arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Just like in the streets, the pub was full of noise and people; an incredible array of the most varied forms of nuisance and fatuity. Blaise writhed his mouth in distaste.</p><p>We sat down at the only table available, under the archway near the wall. I took out my pocket watch again. 5:59. Should be there anytime soon.</p><p>It had been agreed between me and the mysterious N.T. , of which I knew only the initials, that we would meet alone, and unarmed. I looked Blaise in the eyes and told him through our legilimence bond:</p><p>
  <em>You should leave. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Are you sure you don't wa- </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No. I'm fine.</em>
</p><p>He rolled his eyes, clearly disapproving of my decision to play by the rules, to trust this stranger.</p><p>
  <em>Fine. I'll wait for you at Flourish and Blotts. </em>
</p><p>I smiled, half contempt he'd complied, half sorry he had to leave.</p><p>
  <em>Thanks.</em>
</p><p>He got up and put on his coat in a swift motion like the melodramatic king he was. He looked over the room one last time, in anger and frustration, scrutanizing and judging, then turned back to me and nodded goodby caustically.</p><p>Out of my inner pocket I pulled out two green and opaque glass bottles. One was filled with small white pills and the other with a clear, blueish liquid. I uncapped the latter and drank it in one go. I took one white pill out of the other, then closed the two bottles shut again and packed them back in my coat pocket.</p><p>Now all I had to do left was wait. Hopefully I hadn't misunderstood the message. To be honest, the method I'd used to communicate with my informant was perhaps a tad too obscure. It'd been used during the War against Grindelwald to contact undercover agents, and I'd taken me lengthy candle-lit hours bent over old and decrepit newspaper to crack its code. I'd needed an anonymous way to get in touch with Dumbledore, or any of his little pawns really. And the old newspaper trick was one I knew only his antique self would recognise.</p><p>So I'd carefully crafted my plan: I'd put up an add in the Daily: 'Looking for a lost black cat, small and peeving, reward if found', ommitting purposefully any type of identifier, no name, no adress, no phone number, nothing. I'd waited patently for the response, to be posted in the very same newspaper a day after. And it was.</p><p>From my pocket I pulled out the bit of teared newspaper, and brushed a finger over the wringled paper. It read: 'Found a lost black cat, small and peeving. To be collected it at 18, Charing Cross Road A.S.A.P.' I knew the house number was supposed to indicate the time of the encounter, and I also knew the different roads to actually be places on Diagon Alley and not actual adresses. Charing Cross Road was code for the Cauldron, Brick Lane stood for Ollivander's, and so on. But I was still unsure about the date. Had I understood correctly ?</p><p>I looked around again. Fast moving hands and loud talking mouths, a bit of spilled Butterbeer escalating into vulgar insults and threats to 'pay up or take it outside', the drunken lamentations and tipsy exclamations of a few regulars at the bar, and its bartender nodding understandingly. Cutlery made a uniterreptued, raucous noise against plate at the table of a particularly rowdy family. An overworked waitress juggled through the forest of legs, chairs, wooly hats and muddy shoes. Behind her two grandpas played chess, so oblivious to the surrounding chaos they must have been deaf with age. What looked like a particularly sneaky drug deal was taking place next to them, its partakers suspiciously stiff. And suddenly, the door, finally opening, let through a short feminine silhouette.</p><p>The girl made her way through the crowd, her eyes wandering. She had a round little face, with tawny hair and the most ridiculous knitted sweater I'd ever seen. It had to be her. She looked just like the type of person Dumbledore would mingle with; simple, pedestrian, jejune.</p><p>I waited till her gaze met mine, and as it did I gestured with my chin to the vacant stool in front of me.</p><p>She came rushing and sat down, offering me an glowing smile.</p><p>'Hi, I'm Hannah, I'm here for the missing cat add ?'</p><p>I leaned forward, and offered her my hand to shake: 'Pleased to meet you, I'm Hally.'</p><p>She took it and shook it effervently before continuing: 'I'm gonna get something to drink, d'you want anything ?</p><p>'A glass of Blishen's Fire Cinnamon Flavoured Whisky, please.'</p><p>'Great choice - although I personaly don't really like it, I think it's way too strong. And plus I'm allergic to cinnamon so there's that. Me I always go for the butterbeer. I love it so much, it's so sweet and foamy - it makes me feel like home you know ?'</p><p>I watched as the girl stood up and left for the bar, still smiling. I lounged back into my chair.</p><p>Well if that was the person I needed to usurp information from, the task wouldn't be as harduous as i thought. I rolled the small white pill I'd taken out earlier between my fingers. Was this really going to be of any usefulness? Was it really necessary ?</p><p>Hannah came back with a big, leaking pint of butterbeer on one hand and my whisky on the other. Of course it was necessary. Since when was I the type of person to let myself be dupped by simple appearances ? Afterall I knew nothing about this girl, nothing about the true danger that she posed. Better safe than sorry, I thought, closing my fist around the small pill of Veritaserum.</p><p>'So tell me Hannah, what exactly can you do for me?' I asked.</p><p>'Well, it depends: what do you need ?</p><p>'I want my family to be safe. I need too know whom to trust.'</p><p>'That's good,' she beamed at me. 'That's a good thing ! But you should know that the best way protect your family is unity. Fighting against Evil together. Alone we are weak, together we are strong.'</p><p>She'd sayed it like a mantra, with a sort of fanatical edge.</p><p>'Are you asking me to join you?' I frowned.</p><p>She put her hand in the air, as if defending herself.</p><p>'I'm only saying our best shot at bringing Him down, at keeping your family safe, is by fighting together.'</p><p>I leaned over the table, faking concern of being overheard.</p><p>'Do you really think He'd go after people like me?' My voice sounded shaky, and worried. I glimpsed around, and leaned even more, almost whispering: 'I'm only a half-blood, I've never done anything wrong!'</p><p>She looked me in the eyes with a grave, matronazing face and said in an even graver voice: 'He's capable of anything. No one knows what will become if He isn't stopped now.'</p><p>My coat was partly covering the table, and in a quick imperceptible gesture, I dropped the pill into her butterbeer. I went to sit back normally. She took a sip of her pint.</p><p>'I don't know, it's just - I'm just so scared, you know?' I lied through my teeth, hands haky and eyes watery. Damn my acting was good.</p><p>She gave me a sympathetic smile: 'Don't worry honey, you're not alone. We can help you. We can help each other.'</p><p>I nodded, understanding, reassured, and watched in delight as she drunk two large mouthfuls of butterbeer.</p><p>'But how do you know you can trust me?'</p><p>She frowned candidly: 'I actually don't know, I'm not really part of the whole anti-inteligence shenanigans. It's mostly Kingsley and Dumbledore who handle it I guess. I just do the recruiting and close protection, really'</p><p>I smiled in fake sympathy, not being able to contain my excitement upon seeing the effects of my potion unfold so successfully.</p><p>'So, who do you work for ?'</p><p>'Dumbledore. I mean I don't really work for him, it's more of a group thing, but everybody knows he's the boss. No one would dare to defy his authority, even if some of his decisions are stupider than a talking shoe. I mean, the bloke really decided it to trust Snape, you know. Severus Snape, a guy who's so clearly a death Eater he could have an 'I love Voldi' tshirt - with the little red heart you know - no one would be shocked. Literally! And Dumbledore let's him stay at Grimmauld! The greasy little grass attends every meeting, he knows everything about the Order!'</p><p>'The Order ? Is that what you're called?'</p><p>'Yes, the Order of the Phoenix, was established during the first war. You know James and Lily Potter? They used to be members. And Remus, he still is, along with Sirius.'</p><p>'Remus... Remus Lupin, the DA teacher, the werewolf?'</p><p>'Yes and Sirius Black. I mean he was, but he's - He's-'</p><p>She stumbled on her words, eyes wide and lost.</p><p>'Dead ?'</p><p>'Yes and it's the bitch's fault.' Something fiery lighted again in her eyes. 'Bellatrix, she killed him, she fucking did. The little bitch, oh, she doesn't know what's coming, no she doesn't. You see, he's got a plan the old man, and he's coming for all of them. She'll be dead before she even realizes it.'</p><p>'A plan ? What do you mean ? what kind of plan?'</p><p>Now this was getting really interesting. I almost couldn't stop that stupid, cunning grin to grow on me.</p><p>'Ok, I'll tell you but don't tell anyone, promise ?'</p><p>I nodded. I'm a genius, Merlin I am.</p><p>'Basically Dumbledore's been planning this whole thing during the summer, I think he's cracked the code for bringing down You-Know-You and it's got something to do with a treasure hunt. So he missioned Severus to spy on You-Know-You and you'll never guess what he found out.'</p><p>'No, what did he find out?'</p><p>'You-Know-You wants to assassinate him! I mean sure, that Albus knew that for a long time, but he wants to do it now! And he's tasked on of his followers to do so - a student, a Hogwarts student!'</p><p>'Who?'</p><p>'Ah, that Severus couldn't tell him. But it must be one of the Slytherins, since almost all of their parents are involved at some level with You-Know-You. '</p><p>I scoffed. And they said I was the prejudiced one.</p><p>'So what's Dumbledore planning on doing?'</p><p>'Nothing!'</p><p>'What do you mean, nothing?'</p><p>'I mean I don't know, he hasn't said anything regarding his future assassination but he is currently looking for some weird objects of some sorts. And he's wants to train Harry to help him in his quest, because he's apparently vital to it.'</p><p>'Objects ? What kind of objects?'</p><p>'Rings or stones, I don't really know, he's very clammed up about that stuff. I guess you'll have to ask someone else if you really want to know.'</p><p>'I'll do that thank you.'</p><p>'I feel a bit dizzy, don't you? ' she asked, and for a split second I could have sworn her eyes turned purple. But I brushed it off:</p><p>'No I'm fine.' I looked around for an excuse. 'It's probably the warmth, and the noisiness.'</p><p>'Yeah, you're right. Uhm... I really like your lipstick, it's uhm, it's very hot.'</p><p>'Thank you,' I smirked. People under Veritaserum were always so amusingly ridiculous, it was actually quite charming.</p><p>'I mean uhm, you... You look very hot. And beautiful.'</p><p>She frowned, and mumbled something. The effects were wearing off. Time to go.</p><p>'Well, then, thank you so much for your insights, it was really helpfull. Have a good day.'</p><p>I got up to leave but stopped dead in my tracks.</p><p>'You too,' she smiled back at me, but her eyes were glassy and jaunting, as if she couldn't quite understand where she was and what was happening.</p><p>The ends of her hair were slowly turning pink. What the? I inspected her face on last time; her nose was shorter, and her cheeks less full.</p><p>Then her eyes twitched blue. I took a step back.</p><p>A metamorphmagus? Well that was unexpected. Somewhat perturbed I lifted my hand as good bye and made my way out through the crowd. Had I underestimated them? Was the Order, as she'd called them, really that powerful to have a metamorphmagus parading as a simple informant ? How many were they anyway?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello there,<br/>don't be scared to let me know how you feel, the good, the bad, the ugly, or if i've made any spelling mistakes! (I have literally zero idea of what I'm doing tbh)<br/>lots of love,<br/>Jeanne</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. amicitia vera illuminat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>I found Blaise</strong> inspecting a book at the very back of Flourish and Blotts.</p><p>He snapped his book shut and looked down at me. He was - angry ?</p><p>His eyes were piercing, like spikes of obsidien.</p><p>
  <em>So you're alive ?</em>
</p><p>I rolled my eyes. Really ?</p><p>
  <em>I don't owe you anything, Blaise. You can't expect me to do things simply because you say so.</em>
</p><p>His face closed off, and he turned away, breaking eye contact.</p><p>'It's not about that,' Blaise said through his teeth. I could see he was struggling to get out whatever it was he wanted to get out.</p><p>'You never let me in on your little secret plans.'</p><p>I scoffed. 'That's no true.'</p><p>But he continued to walk down the library aisle.</p><p>'You know everything I do. I do everything with you.</p><p>'Yeah, that's exactly it. You never tell me anything. You just expect me to follow along like a good little dog.' He was shaking his head in bitter resentment. I grabbed his elbow to stop him.</p><p>'You're just mad because I left you out this one time. Stop being a child and –'</p><p>'No Hally, it's not <em>just this one time</em>, it's bigger than that.' His face was hard as ice, foreign and distrustful, jaw clenched violently. 'Tell me, Hally, what are you planning? Why do you need higher protection this year? What's different from last year? <em>Who were you meeting today?'</em></p><p>'I – I...'</p><p>He shook his head, in rage and disappointment.</p><p>'I can't trust you like this, Hally.'</p><p>All I could see was the disgust in his eyes.</p><p>'I can't be with you in whatever it is you're doing.'</p><p>
  <em>He didn't believe... Did he?</em>
</p><p>I forced myself to look him in the eyes, pushing aside the sharp stinging I felt in my heart.</p><p><em>'You think I'm with Him don't you?'</em> I asked him soundlessly. <em>'Is that what it is Blaise? You think I work for You-Know-You?'</em></p><p>A beat. The words hung in the air like powder after a gunfire. He adverted his eyes to the bookshelf on his right, a hint of guilt flashing on his face.</p><p>'Unbelievable. One would think you know me better than that.'</p><p>He glanced back at me, 'You have no right to say that. How could I know Hally? Tell me, how could I? All you do is secrets and lies. You...' He hesitated for a few second, running a hand over his face. His voice broke.</p><p>'I can't read you anymore Hal.'</p><p>He paused, hands in the air, as if desperate, as if afraid of the vulnerability that  unsteadied him, as if afraid of breaking the silence again, exposure and fragility, the corporeality of his declaration like a bubble of white cotton clouding on us.</p><p><em>I don't want to lose you either</em>, I wanted to say.</p><p>'I know.' I stepped closer. 'I've been practicing this summer.'  held out my hand awkwardly: 'It's ok. I can show you everythingi if you want.'</p><p>He accepted silently and took my hand, intertwining our fingers in an fist, elbows touching. His fingers were soft but dry, like warm sand drenched in sun. We locked eyes and I let out a smile. For some reason our Occlumency worked better when we touched. I let down the walls of my mind and showed him what I'd been up to this summer.</p><p>After a few moments he closed his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering. His face was beautiful and peaceful now. He whispered:</p><p>'No more secrets, okay?'</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>'Promise ?</p><p>- Promise,' I answered.</p><p>He winked, and said lightly:</p><p>'By the way my mom wants to invite you over for fall break.'</p><p>***</p><p><strong>The station</strong> was crowded and loud, and my mom couldn't help but talk and talk and talk. She'd always been like this; whenever she was uncomfortable, she'd ramble on and on about meaningless things, occasionally cracking a few awkward jokes. She had a talent in finding humour in all things, even the terrible ones. Her brown hair glistened like warm chocolat. I looked at her, at how her hands moved almost by their volition as she talked, passionately, how her cheeks were always a bit red, and round, from that continous smile she never seemed to lose, how she never said a common place thing, how she shined bright and warm, how she was so utterly incapable of all uglinesses.</p><p>We arrived at the Platform, and she suddenly stopped chattering and turned to me in earnestness. I knew she dreaded this moment, like every year. I was her only child, and the only people we'd had for a long time were each other.</p><p>You see my mother got pregnant from her high school sweetheart at sixteen, and grand-pa and grand-ma weren't exactly understanding of her situation. She'd given me birth alone, she'd raised me alone, she'd loved me alone. There was a strength in her soul few could match.</p><p>'Alright Hally-Berry here we go,' she smiled but without her eyes and hugged me. My mom always smelled good.</p><p>'I love you mom,' I mumbled in her ear. 'I love you so much.'</p><p>I hugged her tight, and when we broke apart, her eyes glimmered a bit with water.</p><p>'Don't forget to write okay?'</p><p>'I won't I promise.'</p><p>She let me go with a little squeeze on my arm. I grabed my suitcase in one hand, and Hecate, my cat, in the other. She waved goodbye, and I smiled at her, walking backwards into the wall.</p><p>***</p><p><strong>In the train</strong> I found Blaise again; he was sitting in the very last compartment, reading. Hecate jumped from my arms and nested herself close to him. She was a two year old siamese cat, a beautiful gift from my best friend Zina, and the closest thing I'd ever get to a soulmate. She had my glacial blue eyes and stubborness, I had her swift mannerisms and solitary character. She was as much an extention of me as I was of her. Blaise was the only person she could stand to be around for more than five seconds apart from me.</p><p>'Blaise I need you to do something for me.' He closed his book and looked at me, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>'Sure what is it, you sound anxious ?'</p><p>'I... I need you to talk to Malfoy. And see what you kind find out about the... about what the metamorphmagus told me at the Three Cauldron.' I sat down in front of him.</p><p>'You think You-Know-Who entrusted his ridiculous assassination ploy onto <em>Malfoy</em>? Spoiled, whiny, anemic little Draco Malfoy ?'</p><p>'Think about it, it makes perfect sense. Look at his family, look at his <em>friends. </em>He's a <em>vulgarly </em>outspoken pureblood supremacist, he's expressed his resentment of Harry Potter and DA on multiple occasions - hell his father is even a convicted Death Eater! There's just simply no way he isn't involved on some level with You-Know-Who.'</p><p>Blaise scoffed: 'Malfoy's a coward. A few slurs and jinxes yes, but beyond that he's <em>a child.'</em></p><p>'My point is, Malfoy <em>is</em> the most probable option.'</p><p>'He-Shall-Not-Be-Named has tried for many decades now to rid himself of Dumbledore and failed. There is no way in hell he believes a dysfunctional sixteen year old brat would do the job. If I were to bet, my coins would be on Snape.'</p><p>I shook my head: 'Had Snape wanted Dumbledore dead, he could have done so much sooner. Either he is incapable of killing him or he simply doesn't want to. Besides it makes no sense for him to warn the person he's trying to murder before he murders him.'</p><p>'Snape could be lying.'</p><p>'And the only way to find out, is through Draco.'</p><p>Blaise leaned back in his seat, a defeated look on his face.</p><p>'I can't believe you're forcing me to spend time with <em>Draco Malfoy</em>.'</p><p>'Either Snape is lying, and Draco isn't trying to assassinate Dumbledore, or he isn't, and draco is.'</p><p>'What did <em>I</em> ever do to you to deserve such punishment?'</p><p>'The goal is to find out where Snape stands on this general thing, and how deeply entangled Malfoy is with the Dark Lord's business.'</p><p>'Why do you even want to know all this Lily? I don't think it's safe, we should keep out of it entirely.'</p><p>I shot him a tired look: 'Ignorance is dangerous Blaise, you know that.' And before he could open his mouth to protest again I added: 'And Draco hates me, I don’t think his ego will ever recover from me crushing him in virtually every single class.’</p><p>‘Yeah and I don’t really think you turning him into a ferret again last year really helped that.’</p><p> I smiled at the sweet memories. ‘So it has to be you.'</p><p>'You already owe me for this, hope you know that.'</p><p>I smiled at him, in fake remorse, and he left the compartment sighting dramatically.</p><p>Once he was gone I pulled out my copy of '<em>A discussion on Pre-historical Sigils: Origins, Usage, and Properties' , </em>which was my latest and most exciting find. The leatherbound cover was a formerly brown type of colour, with spots of humidity and other things I preferred not to think about. It was so worn, damaged by sun, hands, and spells, that the title on its side was completely washed off. I believe that's why no one had spotted it before, in the back of the library, between children's stories and cookbooks. And most people also couldn't read Ancient Runes, so how could they know this book held such precious knowledge about primitive, powerful uses of magic. It belonged in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, certainly not in the hands of a six-teen years old Slytherin. I smiled at the thought, and at the secrets I held in my hands, the ones the Ministry tried to hide from you, the dangerous, powerful ones. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. fulgoribus, quae portentis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>I was</strong> one of the first one to arrive in  the dining hall, with a few other students, and our steps, quiet discussions, the rustle of robes, it all poured into the room, filling it in echoes, flickering its candles. A few professors already sat at the far table. I stepped further into the room, and as my eyes caught the starry, milky ceiling, I was reminded of the first time I had encountered these walls.</p><p><em>I'd fallen asleep. On the train, I'd fallen asleep. And no one had bothered to check my compartment. Well it was partially my fault; I'd cast an obscuring spell on the windows.  I wanted to be alone. And the tears had started to build up against my better judgement, so before anyone had the opportunity to see how </em>weak <em>I was, I'd muttered a few words and changed the glass's colour. </em></p><p><em>I cried because I was young, and lonely, and terrified. It was my first time without my mother for more than a week, already I missed her terribly. I didn't know anyone, and the even </em>idea<em> of talking to a stranger paralyzed me to my bone. I thought I wasn't going to make it. But I made sure to cry silently, so that no one could hear how pathetic I was.</em></p><p>
  <em>I woke up to complete silence and spectral darkness. The power had been shut down in the train, and with only a half full moon to bring me light, I could just make out the sharp silhouettes and shadows of my surrounding. I tried to open the door and get out, but with the power out, it was locked. The silence was eerily soothing. I was too dazed to panic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So I grabbed my suitcase, and hammered it repeatedly against the window, hoping it'd crack. And it did, pieces, droplets of glass falling down like water. I removed the rest of it carefully, then threw my luggage through the window, and jumped out. </em>
</p><p><em>Outside, the air was still, no trace of wind, and the forest around me slept in black silence. I tried to scream for help, but some instinct in my guts had made my throat dry and my lungs numb. </em>Some things were better left undisturbed<em>, I thought. </em></p><p>
  <em>I made my way to the head of the train. From there was a road curving into the forest, and on my right a lake, big and inky, and a castle. I held my breath for a few seconds. It was beautiful. Its windows glowed yellow, like a lighthouse, a siren to guide me out of the woods, singing its promises of warm chimney fire and fudgy chocolate pudding. A hope akin to the light in these little windows grew in my chest. I took a step into the road, and another, faster and faster, then started running. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I didn't stop until I had to; a big wooden drawbridge stood in front of me, hard, immovable.  It had a fat iron ring in the middle, almost too high for me to reach it. I banged it on the door as hard as I could, again and again and again and again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A voice rose from the other side of the fortress.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'Miss Halldora Jones, is that you?'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I stopped my banging, unsure whether or not I had hallucinated the voice.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'We've been looking for you everywhere young lady,' reprimanded the voice, 'Why on this godly earth did you not follow the others?'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The heavy wooden door had opened to reveal a tall, lean and elderly looking witch, with a hat that cocked to one side and two eyebrows raised in expectation, in such a perfect arc that I thought they must hold that position permanently. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'I'm - I'm so very sorry madame I fell asleep on the train I was crying - but they didn't wake me and I didn't know what to do because I'd-'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'Yes, yes, all is well now, do not worry.' Her tone had softened, perhaps at the sight of my distress and dishevelled cloths. 'You can explain all that to the headmaster later, now come along! Dinner is almost over, and your Sorting still needs to be arranged.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I gulped down my fear at the mention of the headmaster and followed hurriedly along into the castle. Reality came kind of crashing down as we ventured down the long and labyrinthic corridors. This was my first day and any chance to make an acceptable first impression I'd already blown up. This was a disaster, an astronomical, unequivocal, catastrophical disaster. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But all my thoughts of doom and eternal despair were quickly cut short as we arrived in front of a hall which produced a great deal of noise. It was gigantic, with thousands of students eating, drinking laughing. The old witch stopped next to me, allowing me to take it all in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'This is the Dining Hall, where you'll take all your meal. You've- well you've missed the introductory tour, but we'll have a prefect show you around.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Curiously, the noise of the dining hall had been decreasing, and I realised oh too late it was because everyone had started to turn towards the entrance and stare at me. About a thousand face looked up at me, and a few fingers too, all waiting, all whispering. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My stomach turned. This was too much. Shit shit shit. I was breathing faster. Oh no. My vision became blurry. Oh shit. Not now. I needed something to focus on. Something to drown it down. Something simple. Something clear.</em>
</p><p><em>And just like that, the ceiling cracked open with thunder and lightning; white, loud, unpredictable, </em>powerful<em>. </em></p><p>
  <em>I felt an instant feeling of relieved, as if I'd just been drained out of my entire life's sorrow. My pulse calmed down, and the ceiling cracked again, with two consecutive bolts, long and crooked. I was okay. Nothing would harm me. Lightning struck one last time, and the entire room was quiet now, looking up at me like they'd seen a ghost. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'You must me Miss Jones! Welcome!' boomed a strong and friendly voice, melting the icy silence away. It was an old man in robes who'd spoken, from the Professor's table, in the very middle. 'We were wondering where you had sneaked up to! Now let's not waste any more time, your classmates are already starving from the wait. Come! Come!' He gestured for me to come forward, and so I did, slowly walking down the few steps into the dining hall. Next to him was a stool, and on it an old hat that looked more like a rag than an actual piece of garment anyone would wear. This must be the Sorting Hat, I thought, remembering the big brown book <span class="u">Hogwarts, A History.</span> The old man picked up the Hat, and I jumped a bit when I heard it squeal:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'Another one? My, my what is this? The town's square? I think not.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I let out a small, nervous laugh. The old man in robes lowered the Hat onto my head, and it sat there heavier than I'd thought it would. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'Mmmh, I see. Very troubling. Indeed, most disturbing. Well I presume I have no other choice in your case. SLYTHERIN!'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The room exploded in cheers and boos. An audible gasp rose from the Professors’ table. I turned to see agitated faces, raised eyebrows and bewildered looks, as they whispered in disbelief. I learned later the reason for this, and the hard way. No Muggle-born had been accepted into the house of Slytherin, ever. An as I walked towards the Slytherin table for the first time, the ceiling cracked again in thunder and white light.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p><strong>Will</strong> sat down in front of me a few seconds after I did. I almost hadn't recognized him at first. He'd gained a few centimetres over the summer, and his hair was now blue.</p><p>'Well hello there Cookie Monster.'</p><p>'Hello to you too <em>Halldora,' </em>he replied, cold-shouldering my little comment. 'So, what have you been up to this summer? I didn't hear from you at all.'</p><p>'Nothing much. Reading. Flying here and there. But I stayed at home in Iceland most of the time, with my mom. You?'</p><p>'I picked up Sumerian. Went to Iraq.' He said that like it was the easiest thing, the way someone else told you they'd went to buy eggs at the grocery and that Costco had lowered their price of non-dairy milk.</p><p>Out of all of us, Will was perhaps the strangest. Once he found interest in something, he put his heart and soul into it. I'd often seen him forget to eat, forget to go to class, if he found a subject interesting enough. He was tall and lanky, thin and pale as if nothing more than bones and skin. But there was a light in his eyes, and on the rare occasions when he lifted his gaze up from his book, and looked at you from under his thick eyebrows, it felt like an ocean crashed onto you, blue, deep, cold, and with a sort of out-of-time seriousness that made you question his very mortality. He was the best library companion anyone could wish for.</p><p>‘HALLYYYY!!!’ Two arms knocked the winds out of me and crushed me into a hug. She smelled of flowery vanilla.</p><p>‘Zaina,’ I mumbled into her shoulder. I hugged her back, and something lifted from my chest. Zaina was the only one allowed to do that to me, the hugs. Not that anyone else dared too.</p><p>‘I missed youuuu…’</p><p>‘Me too, Zay, me too.’ She let go of me to examine my face.</p><p>‘Literally can’t believe it’s our 6<sup>th</sup> year together! We’re gonna have so much fun - oh my, I heard that the Hufflepuff team was looking for a new seeker this year! Isn’t it amazing? Picture it,’ she mimed a rectangle with her hands: ‘Zaina Hayek, Falmouth Falcons seeker. Not bad huh?’</p><p>I nodded in agreement. She continued talking as she sat down next to me. At first glance she looked healthy, and happy, totally unbothered by the events of the past year. But I knew she never really showed the complete picture, that she preferred to play her loud and sunny personality because she thought keeping the rain away was her only utility. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was a fool, so naïve and childish with her overenthusiastic eyes and hand gestures. But beneath the surface was the most loyal and caring person I’d ever met, and the only Hufflepuff I could stand to be in the vicinity of. For some reason she’d taken a liking in us, Blaise, Will and I, a few years ago and since then we hadn’t been able to have a single quiet lunch.</p><p>'So Will,’ she’d finished her rambling and beamed at him with a cheeky smile: ‘what prompted you to become everyone's favourite manic pixie dream girl?'</p><p>He sighted, but I knew he’d missed her.</p><p>‘Will you two stop my hair is completely fine!’ He flushed it with his hand and it fell down on his forehead in messy dry strands. Zina and I looked at him sideways. ‘Okay Fine! It was a 2am existential crisis catastrophe…’ Zina giggled. ‘The worst part is, I can’t find any spell to get rid of it! I’ve tried everything! Even the muggle stuff!’</p><p>‘It’s fine Will, it looks good on you.’ Will looked a bit less defeated after she’d said those words.</p><p>Blaise arrived shortly after, and dropped his entire body onto the seat next to Will. He had the expression of a man who’d just spend the last few hours licking Acid Pops.</p><p>‘I’m gonna kill you,’ he said.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. de nobis fabula narratur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>On that same night </b>I decided to stay up and enjoy the magical quietness of the Hogwarts library at night. It was somewhere around one a.m. when I left. At candlelight I'd spent my time translating a 5th century Grimoire on blood magic. I knew no one came to the library on the first day, not even Irma.</p><p>I took a detour to the kitchen. Danny, a young house elf was sleeping rolled up in an ancient, stained and moth-eaten velvet armchair. I tip toed to the back of the kitchen, plunged in the deepest darkness. I knew my way to the coffee machine eyes closed. I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and turned on the machine. It hummed and echoed in the nightly silence, the warm and earthy smell of coffee felt good and familiar. </p><p>I casted a muting enchantment on my feet, carefully stepping out of the kitchen. Escaping Mrs Norris and Filch was an artform in itself, and its repetitive practice had fine-tuned me into one of its most talented artists.</p><p>In the dungeons, torches hung on stonewall glowed a sickly yellow, as if covered in oil, or some kind of greasy filth. The dungeons were not my favourite part of the castle, that's for sure. I preferred heights, and open air. But well some things you do not get to choose.</p><p>I was rounding the corner when it happened. Something, <em>someone</em>, bummed into me full force. Coffee doused everywhere, on my hands, my forearms, my shoes, <em>on my white Borrelli shirt.</em></p><p>I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply, feeling my blood starting to boil.</p><p>'Oh for<em> fuck's sake, use your fucking eyes next time</em>!' I whisper-shouted.</p><p>'You filthy little bitch my fath - <em>I'm </em>going to,' the boy growled, 'aarrgh!!!'</p><p>I recognized the incredibly self-entitled tone instantly and cursed all the gods I could think of. Out of all people to run into late at night, it had to be the most detestable person in all of Hogwarts.</p><p>Malfoy, constant in his idiocy, started shacking his arms, dripping with coffee, in every direction. He wiggled them about as usefully as a toddler trying to shake off flies from a pot of honey.</p><p>'Stop. <em>Fucking. Spraying it everywhere</em>!!! My God what is <em>wrong</em> with you!'</p><p>He stopped his wiggling to look at me. His eyes shot daggers.</p><p>'What's wrong with me? <em>What's wrong with me? </em>you<em> measly little peasant, </em>you just ruined a<em> perfectly good shirt.' </em></p><p>I gaped at him in disbelief. Was he for real?</p><p>'Well <em>maybe</em> if His Majesty had deigned to <em>look</em> at where he was going, <em>none of this would have happened</em>,' I spitted at him through my teeth.</p><p>I could feel him inches away from slapping me across the face, a love reciprocated with equal passion on my side. But I didn't. They were faint footsteps to be heard. Soft and swift, like weighted feathers.  Only a few corridors away, perhaps closer. </p><p>"Someone's coming," I warned him, and looked over the hall for even the slightest movement of shadow. The portraits sat still, sleeping. Only one torch light shone lonelily, a dozen feet away. To our left was a wooden door, brown and rusting. I listened again for the cat's steps.</p><p>"How would you even-" I held out my hand. Great. <em>Braindead ferret.</em> He'd made me lose the sound.</p><p>I mouthed: "Shut. The Fuck. UP."</p><p>He rolled his eyes in and started to turn away. At the end of the corridor, something moved in the shadows.</p><p>In a brilliantly stupid flash of altruism, I grabbed his elbow, and pulled him back to me.</p><p>He was walking straight into Mrs Norris, the deaf bastard.</p><p>He glared back at me; in his eyes the fury of thousand dead black suns. He tried to yank himself away from, but I grabbed him tighter, digging my nails into his arm.  I eyed the wooden door on our left, then the dark corridor, where the Slytherin entrance lay, and most likely Mrs Norris too.</p><p>"Silencio," I whispered, hoping with all my heart it'd work, even without a wand.  Malfoy tried to slip away again but I showed him into the door ungraciously. Not that it was hard, he was as skinny and weak as a wet stray cat.</p><p>The door cracked open in total silence - thank the gods - and I rushed us inside. With my shoulder I closed the door back shut, coffee cup in one hand, blonde ferret in the other.  I let go of the latter.<em> Well done Hally,</em> I thought to myself, <em>now you're stuck with the ferret for who knows long. Not to mention how it will look if you two get caught now.</em></p><p>I exhaled deeply, and took a sip of the sacred beverage. It was still warm. Perhaps the divine powers of coffee were with me after all.</p><p>But a hand snatched my cup away. It was Malfoy, and he was screaming at me, lips moving furiously, veins almost popping at his temples, all of that in the most complete silence.</p><p>I smiled. Now <em>this</em> was a pleasant sight. He got even angrier, and even more ridiculous. He'd set my coffee cup on a table behind him, a school table that'd been discarded here. This room was probably a storage place of some sort. I went to grab for my cup.</p><p>ButDraco pulled out his wand, probably from his ass or something, and started pointing it threateningly at me. I crossed my arms at him. <em>Really?</em></p><p>He continued to insult me soundlessly. Shaking my head, I gestured over my shoulder at what was behind the door. The muting spell had worked, now we just had to wait.</p><p>His shoulder sagged down. A small expression of defeat crossed his face. Pocketing his wand, he let out a really, <em>really</em> bad word. I took the cup from the table. He tilted his head at me, his anger turning dry. I sipped a bit. He started speaking again, lips moving slowly now. <em>Listen to me you little bitch</em>. He articulated every word; I could understand only too well. <em>If you ever</em> - he stepped closer – <em>put your hands on me again</em> – another step – <em>I’ll personally make sure that these </em>– he grabbed both of my wrists<em> – get hatched like dog food. </em>I smirked at him. <em>Really now?</em> He took a step closer, brushing against my knee. I felt the Silencio curse break with the quiet sound of fabric touching.</p><p>‘Believe me, you don’t want to make me your enemy.’ His voice was flat, nothing more than a whisper. I repressed a shudder.</p><p>Malfoy and I were normally the same height, but right now, as I sat on the table and he stood up tall, he towered over me dangerously. I didn’t like that. I put my knee between his legs, pressuring just at the right place. With a hand slid on his neck I pulled him towards me. My lips brushed against the skin of his cheek; his breathing got uneven. I whispered into his ear: ‘Get. The fuck. Away from me.’</p><p>He jerked away, letting go of my wrist. ‘Bitch.’ I couldn’t decide if it was surprise, frustration, or hatred in his eyes. I smiled.</p><p>‘I know.’ He shook his head in exasperation. I watched him turn on his heels, rubbing his face with hands, he opened the door and left.</p><p>The door hovered ajar after him. His footsteps resonated in the empty hallway. There were two things I hated most in this world: feeling powerless, and wasting a good cup of coffee. He’d managed to do both in one night.</p><p class="Studys"> </p>
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